


A Study in (Suspicious) Pink (Liquids)

by enoughiamagod



Series: The Sciences of Deduction [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, High School AU, John is the new kid, Sherlock needs a lab buddy and so does John, based on "A study in Pink", probably no smut, really really really light johnlock, sherlock carries Skull around
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-19 04:25:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enoughiamagod/pseuds/enoughiamagod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: John needs a chemistry lab partner at his new school, and there's another boy looking for a partner too. Stamford introduces them, and the rest, as they say, is history. </p><p>Basically Sherlock and John solve a case, become best friends, and are chemistry partners in high school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lab Partners

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own any characters, just having fun with them.

John Watson limps through the halls of his new school, keeping his head down and trying not to bump into anyone. He’s a new transfer, partly because he couldn’t bear going back to his old school, where his injury was all anyone would talk about, and partly because his sister needed to get away from her friends back home, and he is friendless, and alone, and he likes that, he tells himself.

"John? John Watson?" John turns around. A portly bespectacled boy stands there, grinning. "Mike Stamford, remember me? We were mates back in grade school." He falls into step with John, and they chat about what they've been up to and where they want to go to university and that's when John mentions he's looking for a chem lab partner.

"I'm not an easy bloke to find a lab partner for," he points out drolly, as Stamford laughs.

"You're the second person to tell me that today." John looks at Stamford with interest.

"Oh, really? Who was the first?"

 

Sherlock Holmes is in the chemistry lab, gently adding drops of indicator to his distillation lab. He knows little Molly Hooper has a crush on him, and it is most distracting when he's trying to concentrate. Often he sends her on little errands, because she’s useful in spite of being insipidly in love with him and if he feels the slightest bit guilty he squashes it quickly. His skull, nestled in his bag, grins up at him as to say _well, Sherlock, at least you have me_ , and Sherlock reaches out and gently flutters his fingers over the brow bone. Skull has always been there for Sherlock, even when the other kids teased him about it, and Sherlock is reassured by the smoothness of the bone. It focuses him and calms him down when his brain won’t stop-ah, who is this? Sherlock’s eyes flick over the two boys who have just entered the lab. One he knows well, Stamford, _dull,_ and the other...

_Oh._

The other is a smaller boy with sandy hair and lively eyes, whose tan suggests _outdoors_ but the limp says otherwise. Posture says _discipline_ and _steady hands_ and Sherlock wonders if this boy will make a better lab partner than he had hoped for.

“Can I borrow your phone?” He knows Stamford doesn’t have his phone, but he’s hoping the other boy will offer his.

“I don’t have mine, sorry Sher-”

“Here. Use mine.” The blond boy’s voice is smooth and gentle, and Sherlock can hear in it iron running under the surface and the thought that rises unbidden is _he’s used to being obeyed_ and if that sends a tiny shiver through Sherlock’s body that means nothing. The room is cold, is all, and Sherlock takes the other boy’s phone (something Watson, he learns from the phone, damn it why didn't he catch the boy's name?) and quickly types in a few things.

“Thank you. So what sport was it?”

“I’m sorry?” Molly chooses this moment to make an appearance, of course she does, damn her, but Sherlock takes the coffee she offers him anyway and debates insulting her but lets it go because she’s looking at _Jim? James? John? John._ and edging towards the door.

“See you later, Sherlock,” she calls, and the door swings shut behind her.

John watches the boy called Sherlock move with surprising ease and grace for such a lanky frame. He’s got dark hair and light eyes and lighter skin and John’s not surprised to feel a slight tightening of his lungs when Sherlock makes eye contact.

“I play the violin and I’m messy and when I’m concentrating on a lab I can not talk for days. Will that bother you?” John stops to think.

“No, why?”

 

“Potential lab partners should know the worst about each other.” No one’s said anything about lab partners yet, John swears, so he’s a bit confused.

“Wait, who said-”

“You did.”

“I don’t even know you yet.”

“I know you’re a former athlete who was injured so he returned home and you’re looking for a lab partner but you have no friends here. Why is that? One possibility is that you’ve just moved here, and why? Because of your injury, which is in your shoulder, not in your leg, by the way, or because of your sister? Either way, it’s enough to be going on, I think. The name’s Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221 B Baker Street. I’ll see you this afternoon to discuss our partnership. Good day.” With that, he sweeps out of the room, leaving a perplexed John and grinning Stamford behind.

“Yeah, he’s always like that,” Stamford chuckles. “But he’s all right.”

“I sure hope so,” John replies, staring at the door. He feels his phone buzz, and pulls it out. A text from Harry. He hits ignore, then thumbs over to his sentbox. The last sent message is to a number John doesn’t know, and it reads only “Arrest the brother.” Right then. Well, he’s intrigued.

221 B Baker Street later this afternoon it is.


	2. The Arch-Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins to see that being Sherlock Holmes' lab partner means he'll see the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't own, just having fun.

221 B Baker Street turns out to be a nondescript apartment in the middle of the city, and he’s preparing to knock when an older woman opens the door.

“Oh, you must be John, Sherlock’s told me all about you, do come in dear,” she bustles in him quickly, smelling of floral powder and bath salts and John’s eyes widen at the sight of the inside apartment. It’s a mess, papers everywhere, pillows, clothes, and a few other items John has no desire to investigate.

“Thanks, Mrs. Holmes,” he answers, and is surprised when she responds that oh, no, she isn’t Sherlock’s mother, goodness can you imagine mothering that, but she is his landlady and most certainly not his housekeeper.

“Which explains the mess, dear,” she finishes, patting him on the shoulder.

“Where are his parents?”

“Oh, heavens, I don’t know, probably off some place, they’re pretty rich, you know.” Her voice drops conspiratorially. “It’s a shame, isn’t it, leaving two bright boys all on their own. Why, if you asked me-”

“Oh, do stop talking, Mrs. Hudson. You’re boring John.” Sherlock’s slender frame leans against the door, and John can’t help it. He _looks_. His eyes drag over long legs encased in jeans and a white tee, tucked in, that hugs Sherlock’s chest, and the pale lines of his neck and up to that face, with the funny lips and bright eyes and the shock of wavy dark hair that falls over one eye and John swallows and thinks his throat has gone dry. But it passes quickly.

“No, no, I’m fine, Sherlock, not bored at all,” he insists, smiling. “Mrs. Hudson is a lovely conversationalist.” Sherlock grunts in reply. “Nice place you’ve got, here. Live alone?” “Mostly.”

“What does that mean, mostly?”

“Well, I’ll leave you two boys alone now. Just yell if you need something.” With that, Mrs. Hudson hobbles away. Sherlock seems to be ignoring John’s question, so he tries a different approach.

“I looked you up last night,” John remarks. “In the school records, and online.”

“Anything good?” Sherlock has his back to John, and is looking out the window.

“You claim to be an expert at identifying compounds, and you can tell a man’s job from his pinky.” Sherlock turns to looks at him expectantly.

“Do you believe that?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Just then Sherlock’s phone dings and he huffs with annoyance.

 _Lestrade would text me right now_ , he thinks, _just when I’ve got someone who could maybe be my friend sitting in one of my chairs_.

“Sorry, John, I have to answer this.”

“It’s fine, go right ahead.” By the way John’s sitting and shifting in his chair Sherlock knows that it’s not fine, but he really does have to answer this because if he doesn’t he’ll probably set the school lab on fire. For science.

 

_[Want to identify some liquids? GL]_

_[For you, or for a case? SH]_

_[Case. The DI has a vial of liquid that no one knows what it is. They’re sending it to a chemist in two days but I convinced them to let you have a look at it first. GL]_

_[Is this related to the murders that have been happening lately? SH]_

_[Can’t say. GL]_

_[When can you deliver them? SH]_

_[Now. GL]_

 

John’s watching Sherlock text and trying not to think about how he bit his tongue when he was concentrating or how his fingers are graceful. It’s not John’s place to admire this boy, John thinks, and so he pushes it from his mind.

“John, how good are you with identifying compounds?”

“Very good.”

“Want to do some right now?”

“Oh, god, yes.” And even though John’s answer holds a hint of sarcasm, Sherlock smiles, and leads John to the lab he’s set up in the spare bedroom (Mycroft’s room, Sherlock thinks gleefully. He’ll kill me when he comes to stay next). They distill and blend and light things on fire, but to John it feels like a test. Sherlock’s watching him more than actually doing chemistry, but the companionship is easy and the silence is comfortable, but even so John feels like breaking it.

“Do you do this often, then, work with the police?”

“Now and then.”

“Why? The police don’t ask students for help.” Sherlock stiffens slightly, and John can’t help but feel that he’s offended this strange lanky boy.

“I’m not just a student, John. Have you identified those chemicals yet?”

“What, oh, no, still working on-”

“Don’t bother, I’ve got them. Let me just text Lestrade. Do you want some tea?”

John and Sherlock are drinking tea and Sherlock’s telling John about one of the other cases he’s helped solved when Lestrade arrives to pick up the samples. He’s a young detective with light brown hair and big brown eyes, fresh-faced, and John can’t help but wonder about his association with Sherlock.

“John, Lestrade. Lestrade’s an old family friend who recently entered the police force, and I sometimes help him. Lestrade, this is John, my lab partner.” They chat and when Lestrade leaves, John goes too, wrapped in his thoughts, and he doesn’t notice the young man that follows him for three streets, not until that young man grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the alleyway.

“What’s your relationship to Sherlock Holmes?”

“I’ve only just met him, and I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“How loyal.” The young man’s voice is mocking, and John appraises his accoster. Not slim, but not fat, well dressed, umbrella. “Might I expect to see you two on a date?”

“I’m not gay. Who are you, anyway, and why are you interested in Sherlock?”

“Of course not, Mr. Watson.Sherlock would probably tell you I’m his arch-enemy. Have a good day, Mr. Watson.” With that, the mysterious man walks past John and vanishes into the stream of people walking on the street. John is shaken, but he walks to his house nonetheless, locks all the doors securely behind him, and sends a text to Sherlock.

_[Who the hell is your archenemy? JW]_


End file.
